


of cats and not so perfect plans

by renwrites



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, a very mean cat, and damen is smitten, laurent has a cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 00:56:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6173707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renwrites/pseuds/renwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damen’s weakness for blondes was a well-known fact and one that got him into more trouble than not – as Nikandros would never let him forget –, but even he had to admit that using a cat to get a blonde’s attention was a new low.</p>
            </blockquote>





	of cats and not so perfect plans

**Author's Note:**

> from a prompt on tumblr: _How about a modern day au where they're neighbours and meet because laurent's cat keeps ending up in damen's living room or because damen's dog tackles laurent?_  
>  (also, english isn't my first language and this is unbeta'd, so sorry for any mistakes!)

 

Damen’s weakness for blondes was a well-known fact and one that got him into more trouble than not – as Nikandros would never let him forget –, but even he had to admit that using a cat to get a blonde’s attention was a new low.

It had started in his first week in the new apartment. Damen had been busy piling up boxes and boxes full of all the stuff Jokaste had let him get his hands on in a corner, muttering to himself that one day he would get around to emptying them when he saw it: a fat, hairless cat sleeping on his fleshly ironed shirts on the small sofa.

Damen’s first reaction had been a long, confused stare, and then a frown. He didn’t have cats. In fact, he was kind of allergic to them, and even if he wasn’t, he wasn’t a cat person. If he were to have a pet, it’d been a big dog, and not a hairless cat that looked like it had eaten a soccer ball for breakfast.

But, well, there it was, sleeping peacefully on his sofa as if it owned the place.

While he watched, still not sure of what to do, the cat woke up, stretched and then stared back at him, eyes big and blue. For a – weird, absurd – second, Damen felt like he was being judged, as if he was the invader and not the rightful owner of that sofa, those clothes and that very apartment.

His frown deepened. How had it even gotten in, anyway? He lived on the fifth floor, there was no way it was a stray cat, and well, it was too well-fed to be one. So, Damen concluded, approaching the animal carefully, it probably belonged to one of his neighbors.

“Now, cat,” he had said, clasping his hands together. “We need to get you to your owner.” He raised a hand. The cat’s blue eyes followed him closely. “If you cooperate…”

But it definitely _didn’t_ want to cooperate. Damen’s hand had barely gotten closer to its big ears when it attacked, claws flashing. Damen yelped and jumped back, his other hand going to where now three angry red lines colored his brown skin. He made a face to the cat, was ignored completely, and watched for a few more seconds while it licked its claws and paws.

It had gone downhill from there.

She – for Damen had decided at some point that it was a girl cat – didn’t fall for any of his bribes. She ignored when he rang bells, threw balls and other objects, and didn’t even look up from her throne upon his shirts when he shook a piece of meat in front of her. She was merciless, he concluded, and determined to drive him mad.

After a dozen fruitless attempts and more than a few scratches, though, Damen was forced to admit it wasn’t working. The cat wasn’t going to move. He had, in the end, been defeated, and it was time to change his tactic.  

So, an hour later, he had found himself in front of one his neighbors’ door, hands behind his back and a not so amused expression on his face. He had gone first to the one neighbor he didn’t know yet. He had four; an old couple, a family with three small kids who made way too much noise and the one who lived right beside him and that for all he knew might as well be a ghost. He hadn’t seen or heard them since moving in six days earlier.

“Good afternoon,” he began once the door opened, but then the words died in his mouth. There, watching him while leaning against the wall, was the most beautiful man he had ever seen.

He wasn’t that tall – not for Damen, at least – and was dressed in severe, dark clothing that hugged his slender body and showed just a hint of the lean muscles beneath, much to Damen’s distress. His face as that of a classic statue; all sharp angles and high cheekbones, rosy lips and big, piercing blue eyes. Fierce golden locks framed his face and brushed against his shoulders, and, Damen noticed, he also wore boots and held a short whip in his hand. Just the image of someone about to go out for riding, though he had no idea of where exactly he would find a horse in this city.

He must’ve spend too much time staring, for the man arched one of his eyebrows and said, voice polite, but cold, “Yes?”

Damen blinked and felt his cheeks warming. He coughed, feeling like he was 14 again and confessing to his first crush. “I was, hm, just wondering if you maybe have a cat? Because I just moved in and, uh, there is one in my living room. And I don’t, you know, have any cats.”

The man stared at him, and the silence grew heavy, but then he nodded, straightening himself, “I do. Please lead the way.”

And that was how Damen found himself guiding a beautiful man to his apartment to rescue an angry cat from his sofa. The idea was so absurd that he spent the whole time quiet, watching with growing alarm while the man – Laurent, he said, his name was Laurent – analyzed his messy living room, eyes lingering on the boxes and on the random objects scattered on the floor for a few more seconds than it was strictly necessary with obvious disapproval. He gathered the small devil in his arms without fangs being bared or distressed meows being heard, thanked Damen in the same polite tone he had used earlier and disappeared through the door.

His blonde locks had just got out of his sight when Damen decided, half awed, half stunned, that he had to see him again,

“Can’t you see that what you are doing is madness?” Nikandros had asked, following him around the apartment while Damen put his meticulous plan in action. He had just found out that the cat had entered his apartment through its small balcony. Laurent’s were close enough that it had been able to jump, make its way to his living room and sleep away on his sofa before he noticed its intrusion. And now that Damen was placing a bowl full of cat food on his own balcony, the cat would have a reason to come back. It was a perfect plan. “This is too much, even for you.”

Damen agreed, but he wasn’t going to tell Nikandros that much.

“You should be working on getting a job,” his friend insisted. “Your money won’t last forever now that your brother stole your business.”

“I know, Nik. Don’t worry.” Damen tried his best reassuring smile. Nikandros didn’t fall for it, obviously. They weren’t friends since before they could walk for nothing. “I’m working on getting a job. I’m just working on other things too.”

“Like on how to get into your blonde neighbor’s bed, for example?” Nikandros’s tone was a mix of amusement and disapproval. Damen ignored him.

The cat showed up in his living room a few hours later, licking its paws and whiskers, the bowl on the balcony completely empty. Damen beamed at her and jumped out of the sofa to go knock on Laurent’s door again. When he opened it, he gave him his best smile, conscious that he was way too pleased with himself.

It became a habit eventually. At least three times a week Damen would knock on Laurent’s door, half embarrassed, half trying to be flirty, and then lead him into his apartment so he could get his cat back.

He learned a great deal about Laurent through apparently innocent questions asked only to fill the silence while the other man followed him into his now clean living room. Laurent would be turning 21 in a few months, and yes, he lived alone, and no, he didn’t have a family to speak of, only an uncle he didn’t talk to, and yes, he did go riding sometimes, there was an equestrian park nearby, didn’t he know? And no, he didn’t have any other cats (thankfully, in Damen’s opinion).

After a time, Damen started offering a glass of water or a cup of coffee, every once in a while a cookie or anything, really, though Laurent at the beginning only refused politely and left. But then he started lingering just a bit after the cat was already safely tucked under his arm, as if waiting to see if Damen would offer anything, and Damen would, obviously, being the smitten idiot he was. Laurent would still refuse half the time, but it didn’t matter, not really, since sometimes he _would_ say yes and Damen got to see eating his cookies and even smiling while the cat watched them both with something he could swear was an annoyed glare.

And yes, he had learned a great deal about the cat too.

It was indeed a girl, and her name was Cordelia, though Damen liked to think of her as Laurent’s little devil. Cordelia was spoiled, moody and mean, and overall a brat, but Laurent was very obviously fond of her, which Damen found insanely cute. She liked cat food that tasted like fish, hated anything that wasn’t cat food but shrimps, which caused him to spend way too much money on a pet that wasn’t even his.

“Are you even planning on doing anything more than lure his cat and him into your house for cat food fish flavored and cookies?” asked Nikandros once, when Damen was talking (and talking and talking) about Laurent and the last five times he had come to rescue Cordelia. The expression on Nikandros’s face was skeptical.

“You don’t understand,” was Damen’s answer. “Laurent is… different. I need to be patient with him.”

“I think you’re fretting too much, Damen,” said Nikandros, but, once again, Damen ignored him.

But it turned out that Nikandros was right (like always. Damen should start taking his advices before he did something stupid. Again). A few days later, on a Friday afternoon, Cordelia showed up in his living room and started rubbing herself against the sofa and trying to ruin his shirts with her claws, but Damen didn’t lose a minute. He was already knocking on Laurent’s door five minutes later, the door to his own house forgotten open and Cordelia’s distressed meows not even registering in his mind.

“Oh, this is getting _ridiculous_ ,” said Laurent as soon as the door opened and before Damen could even open his mouth. He had just arrived from the equestrian park; his hair was damp and slightly disheveled, his pale skin flushed and covered in sweat. “Are you going to ask me out or not?”

Damen just stared at him, too stunned to say anything.

“It’s been _two months_ ,” Laurent continued,crossing his arms. “You don’t really think I didn’t suspect anything?”

Damen blinked, and tried to ignore the rush of blood up his cheeks. “You knew?”

To his surprised – and delight – Laurent snorted. “You don’t say?” He leaned against the wall, and Damen caught the flicker of amusement in his dark blue eyes. Something tugged at his chest and he smiled. “So?”

“Hm,” said Damen, smile disappearing and the feeling that he was suddenly a 14-year-old again getting hold of his mind. He hadn’t thought how this part would go yet, being stuck as he was in just trying to get Laurent to talk to him, but he could see Laurent was holding back from rolling his eyes. Oddly, that made him relax almost completely. He gave him a new, bright smile. “So,” he coughed. “Want to go out with me tonight?”

“To the movies?” _Anything_ , Damen thought, nodding. “See you in two hours. I need to shower and get dressed.” He eyed Damen, and the amusement was back in his eyes. “You stay with Cordelia until then.”

And without another word, he turned and closed the door. Damen stood there, still stunned, for a few more minutes, and it was only a sharp bolt of pain in his left foot what finally woke him up. He looked down; Cordelia had her fangs deep into his thumb, and eyed him with her blue eyes full of mischief, tail moving against the polished floor.

“Little devil,” he chuckled, and when he caught her in his arms, she just nuzzled against this chest and purred.


End file.
